Listen Carefully

Sound: Discovering the Vibrations We Hear – written and illustrated by Olga Fadeeva, translated from the Russian by Lena Traer
Eerdmans Books for Young Readers, 2025

Imagine for a moment that you are about to pick up a children’s book explaining the physics of sound. How do we hear and transmit noises? Then being to page through it, noticing that the illustrations, in acrylic paint and water, would be worth the proverbial price of admission. Then, as you begin to read, you realize that the ambitions behind this project go way beyond the scope of what you had anticipated. Author and artist Olga Fadeeva has produced an information-rich picture book that moves among physics, biology, history both distant and recent, spoken and signed languages, culture from music to architecture, and technology. That list is still incomplete.

Sound requires careful attention and rewards it on every level.  Opening the book, we see a mother cradling a baby; this is the setting for how we first experience sound. Then, we enter a kitchen, the familiar setting for objects emitting noises, so ordinary that we might ignore them: a boiling teakettle, a clock, a phone, a pot of soup. There is no division between the informational and artistic components of this picture, or in any other section of the book.  Aware of how attention is naturally segmented, Fadeeva places her intriguing introductory premise in a rhombus that is actually in inside of an open window. The metaphor is perfect. A window is opening onto the meaning of sound.

Some pages use different sizes and colors of font, and have captions, as well as words that are sound effects framing the text. There are carefully employed graphics, such as a line indicating the intensity of decibels, or the organs of hearing and speaking labeled and described. The progression among topics is not frenetic; every idea is clearly linked to the ones preceding and following.  While Fadeeva cannot anticipate every question about sound, there are many common sources of wonder that are clarified. How do bats hear? What are some common birdcalls?  What is distinctive about underwater sounds?

There are other angles from which to explore sound and Fadeeva credits young readers with the curiosity to include them. She actively engages them with invitations to consider different contexts.  What was sound like in prehistory? How did the audience hear in the amphitheaters of the ancient world? (images). Medieval music makes an appearance, visualized with the excitement of charging knights and the lovely concert of flute, timbrel, bagpipe, and lute. Musical notation has its own pages. Even if children have never read music, they will be drawn in by the basic premise: “How can you write down music on a page – and turn it back into sound?” Glamorous performers and intricate pages of notes give the effect of collage. Pages on recording sound includes images of antique devices, and the question of “How do you fill the world with sound?” is followed by a concise but detailed answer superimposed on a dial telephone. Even the cord is covered with words.

The concluding endpapers feature brightly colored pictures and instructions for experiments.  Even after this incredible excursion into the world of sound, children may still want to fill a plastic bottle with buttons or beans, and create an orchestra.  Sound is an intricate and engaging performance for children and adult audiences.

Treasured Pasta

Spaghetti: A Mouse and His Treasure – written and illustrated by Merrilees Brown
Tundra Books, 2025

Collecting is a fantastic hobby, or maybe it is just an annoying compulsion.  One person’s desirable object is another person’s clutter. Author and artist Merrilees Brown transforms this truism into a wonderful story about Spaghetti, a creative mouse who “sees beauty and possibility in what others no longer want or need.” Named after one of his favorite media, this charming character is rendered in graphite, oil paint, print, humor, and affectionate details. 

Since mice have large families, Spaghetti has a rapt audience for his pencil stilts, cat face costume, and even his carefully composed box of cast-offs waiting to find a use. Yet other members of his clan are annoyed by his endless projects.  Mummy complains of the mess and Daddy makes the puzzling statement that “You have too much treasure”” as if that were possible.  Spaghetti responds with conviction, and even a hint of defiance, literally immersing himself in the multicolored materials he will bring to life.

Spaghetti recognizes that he has a problem, so he “puts on his thinking cap.” Children have the pleasure of seeing this expression visualized as one of the mouse’s creations. Crafts are sometimes distinguished from works of art by their usefulness, but this distinction can be permeable.  Spaghetti decides to emphasize the incredible properties of pasta, building something practical for everyone in his home.  Engineering meets art in his Calder-influenced amusement park. (There are other picture book mice with artistic sensibilities and kinetic skills; I’ve reviewed three of them here and here and here.)

Spaghetti’s self-assurance allows him to persist, even when others fail to recognize the importance of his vocations. At the same time, he is as flexible as a strand of spaghetti, letting young readers know that being true to oneself doesn’t require dismissing other viewpoints. Best of all, he succeeds in combining three different values: collecting, creativity, and love for his family.

Sisters You Won’t Forget

Stella & Marigold: Mermaids and Mix-Ups – written by. Annie Barrows, illustrated by Sophie Blackall
Chronicle Books, 2025

The second volume in Annie Barrows and Sophie Blackall’s series about an unforgettable pair of sisters continues their adventures, and the development of their relationship. Stella & Marigold established that their closeness, characterized by both unrelenting love and occasional friction, was as believably narrated as Beverly Cleary’s Ramona books (astute readers of my blog will recognize that its title derives from a quote in Ramona the Brave.) The outward similarities between the two series are not superficial, but rather are based on the way which both sets of books communicate how it feels to be a child, without a touch of condescension. Both also invite adults to identify with characters, whether by remembering their childhood or following along as Stella and Marigold’s parents, teachers, and grownup friends, who also propel the plot. (I reviewed the first Stella & Marigold book here.)

Each chapter may be read independently, but are interconnected. The book begins with a gift which the sisters receive from their Aunt Judy. Like many of her gifts, this one turns out to be a Trojan horse. A sparkly purple covered diary with high-pressure demand to record “Me and My Besties! Our Secrets, Our Faves, Our Fun!” sets Stella and Marigold on a series of attempts to find friends worthy to fill in the blanks. Even though this involves some distress, it eventually leads to an understanding of friendship and empathy, minus the high-stakes categories.

In “Snow, Snow, Snow!” Stella tries to win the friendship of a classmate by using mind control to ensure a snowstorm. When their teacher, Mr. Banagal, intends to dissuade the children by calling this “magical thinking,” Barrows reveals how differently adults and children sometimes interpret reality. His phrase has the opposite result. After all, what else could magical thinking be but “encouraging?” Adults will read this passage with recognition, but not a sense of superiority unless they don’t remember what it felt like to fruitfully “misinterpret” adult’s language. Barrows does employ a little bit of gentle humor at adults’ expense when Teacher Kaitlin carefully avoids direct praise of Marigold’s artwork, instead focusing on one quality:

“Wow, your picture is so detailed”…She always said things like that. Never, “Your picture is great…the best I ever saw.”

Blackall’s pictures feature her ability to convey a character’s feelings with slight alterations of their features. (I reviewed another of her books here.) A range of crayon-box colors, and careful composition of images against white background, give every page of the book its own impact. Stella and Marigold sit across from one another at a table, as they collaborate on coping with the diary. Marigold desperately tries to get her father’s attention when he is absorbed in his work; his temporary rejection leaves her curled into a question mark, embodying her feelings about why his priorities would be so misplaced.

There are so many series about girls and their friendships; many of these are terrific. Stella & Marigold fits securely into the category of classic.

A Bridge to Somewhere

Late Today – written by Jungyoon Huh, illustrated by Myungae Lee, translated from the Korean by Aerin Park
Eerdmans Books for Young Readers, 2025

The opening endpapers of Late Today show an overcast sky. The following two pages feature the consequence, a bridge accompanied by the warning that “Morning rush hour traffic is congested all over Seoul,” with the report’s words alternating in word of the report alternating in level relative to the image.  The title page shows an adorable kitten with golden brown eyes that match the lid of the carton which has become her bed. Readers join the traffic jam and the rescue mission.

Jungyoon Huh’s minimalist text (ably translated by Aerin Park) conveys just exactly the amount of information needed.  Myungae Lee’s illustrations, rendered in colored pencils and oil pastels, combine black and white scenes, graphic novel panels, and earth and jewel tones against white background. They are beautiful in their simplicity, but also convey motion, sense impressions, and the imminent threat of losing a kitten on a traffic-clogged bridge.  The black font ranges in size, with some pages reminding me of the lettering used in Margaret Wise Brown and Leonard Weisgard’s The Noisy Book, and sequels. (The Winter Noisy Book is illustrated by Charles G. Shaw.)

Public transportation passengers, each in isolation, express their own thoughts about the danger, and their appropriate response to the kitten’s plight.  Parents and caregivers sharing the book with children will want to discuss all the implications of these natural, but possibly inadequate, emotions: “Why is no one helping out,” “Too heartbreaking to see. I’ll just look away,” and Oh no…what should I do?” One incredible two-page spread is a bird’s eye view of the vehicles, each one inadvertently threatening the tiny kitten weaving between them. The text is enclosed in a rectangle similar in size to the vehicles themselves, the words visualizing the ominous situation.

Cinematic techniques dedicate to full pages to a darkening storm, and another two to pelting raindrops.  Readers pause and take a deep breath. Then, a driver rescues the kitten, his or her hands cradling the animal in a gesture of human kindness. Someone has intervened at exactly the right moment. The cars and buses move. Everyone is relieved.  Being late is sometimes exactly right.

The Year Is a Circle

Lights at Night – written by Tasha Hilderman, illustrated by Maggie Zeng
Tundra Books 2025

There are two families observing the rhythms of the year in Lights at Night. One is human and the other canine, specifically foxes.  Dream-like images with changing shades of color include realistic details, both natural and cultural.  Children experience the wonder, but also the reassurance, of the four seasons and their special features, from football in autumn to storms in spring. While the fox family does not kindle holiday lights around the time of the winter solstice, they also appear to respond to the changes.  Tasha Hilderman’s soothing poetic text complements Maggie Zeng’s visual immersion in the excitement of one year. Children find joy, not boredom, in the repetition of familiar events.

A powerful storm is just unsettling enough to make the shelter of home more of a comfort.  Crayon drawn strikes of lightening emanate from a house, enclosed in a photograph, and also cross its border.  Inside, a strong of lights and beds configured as tents add the sense of drama that children like. Note the plush fox in a small sleeping bag. The fox family lacks the domestic props, but is just as attuned to the environmental changes. Of course, animals’ lives are more closely defined by the seasons. In spring, “new babies arrive with the stars.”

Campfires come in summer; riding the bus to school and harvesting wheat are tied to autumn. One of my favorite images in the book is a natural and unobtrusive celebration of multicultural holidays.  Christmas trees, Diwali lights, a Muslim family welcoming visitors, and a Kwanzaa lamp grace the neighborhood, along with a Jewish family’s observance of Chanukah. If you look closely, you will see that the correctly depicted nine branch chanukiyah (menorah) has its candle farthest to the left partly obscured by the window frame.  This is not an error, just a small visual element lending authenticity to the way in which someone placed the lights, which must be visible from the outside.

At the end of the book, the two children share an album and a box of crayons. The volume is open to the photo with lightning, enhanced by the children’s artwork. The actual fox looks up the moon.

The Other Side of Trouble

Trouble Dog: From Shelter Dog to Conservation Hero – written by Carol A. Foote, illustrated by Larry Day
Eerdmans Books for Young Readers, 2025

There is a lot of action in Trouble Dog. There is also an abundance of information, a likeable main human character, and a surprising amount of humor.  Carol A. Foote has combined two real-life conservation dogs into one fictional hybrid named Tucker.  Caught in a cycle of adoption and rejection, he is always returned to the animal shelter that has given up on placing him. Then, along comes Laura, a classic heroine who refuses to give up on an unlikely pet who has driven everyone else to distraction. Larry Day’s pictures are full of action and color, setting a motion Laura and Tucker’s journey from trouble to success.

The opening end papers introduce Tucker in some typically frenetic canine activity. Then it escalates, as every home the shelter finds for him is subjected to chaos.  Tucker manages to overturn an aquarium and books in one place. He grabs a girl’s sweater and won’t let go. A man attempting to read his newspaper looks enraged as Tucker grabs it and leaves a litter of overturned items in his wake.  When we next see him, Tucker is a lonely prisoner in a cage, “watching everyone pass him by.”

Laura is a sturdy figure with a ponytail, flannel shirt, and jeans.  She is as no-nonsense as Mary Poppins, and she also intuits something about Tucker that everyone has missed. His energy can be put to good use.  Even though her home is quickly as disordered as every other place Tucker has been, she has a vision and the practical sense to implement it.  Dogs, as readers learn in Foote’s detailed backmatter, have a highly developed sense of smell.  Laura observes Tucker carefully and evaluates his routine and abilities.  She isn’t just kind and patient, but methodical, as well. 

Eventually Tucker gets a job, or a series of jobs. The details in the text are embedded in words as colorful as the pictures. “Tucker’s first job was to find rosy wolf snails in Hawaii.” (image). He travels the world, sniffing out “moon bears in China, mountain lions in Chile, and elephants in the jungles of Myanmar” in a narrative as exciting as one by Jules Verne, but rooted in the truth.  In a two-page spread, Tucker crosses the gutter between pages. An elephant marches ahead of him, dwarfing the dog in size, but not in energy.  Three researchers form a determined row in the background, to his left.  The image captures the cooperation necessary for Tucker to succeed in helping scientists to learn about species in need of protection.

Not every outing produces results easily. In Zambia, Laura’s optimism is tested, looking for cheetah scat and coming up short.  When Laura insists that “I trust Tucker,” who finally leads them to the right location, she is not relying only on her affection for the dog. Through hard work and astute decisions, she and Tucker have become a team.

Four pages of additional information and photographs are organized in a question-and-answer format, giving the bigger picture of how conservation animals, as well as other service animals, provide essential services.  A selected bibliography is accompanied by an oval portrait of Laura and Tucker relaxing at home. I hope that no one misses one title, by Alexandra Horowitz, Inside of a Dog: Young Readers Edition: What Dogs See, Smell, and Know. Just parenthetically, the title refers to the famous quip usually attributed to Groucho Marx: “Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read.”  It’s definitely not too dark to read inside this book.

Reconciliation without History

Returning the Sword: How a Japanese Sword of War Became a Symbol of Friendship and Peace – written by Caren Stelson, illustrated by Amanda Yoshida
Carolrhoda Books, 2025

There is an understandable connection, for many readers, to books that promise a hopeful vision of reconciliation after conflict.  I have read and reviewed many books in this category.  While I respect the principle of deriving a positive lesson from a disastrous historical event, I have difficulty with facile messages of friendship in the absence of context.  Returning the Sword has beautiful illustrations by Amanda Yoshida, and the text by Caren Stelson is obviously the product of sincere beliefs. She is a serious author committed to writing about important topics. However, I am troubled by the book’s almost complete absence of accurate information about Japanese aggression before and during World War II, and its depiction of the Japanese people as the sole victims of that conflict (as was also done here).

Stelson relates the story of Orval Amdahl, a man who served in the U.S. Marines during World War II and in the postwar occupation of Japan. He was horrified by the death and destruction wrought by the atomic bomb, a response shared by people throughout the world.  Although more people were actually killed in the firebombing of Tokyo, inflicting death by radiation poisoning in the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki was conceived as a different category of weapon, one to be avoided ever again. 

The decision to use that weapon to end the war, while one with terrible consequences, did not occur in a vacuum, but readers would never learn that from the book.  Reporting Captain Amdahl’s reaction in Nagasaki, Stelson writes that “The city had been destroyed by a terrible bomb,” and “So many people had lost nearly everything important to them in this terrible war.”  The starving children he meets, and the other civilian victims, had been living under a fascist regime that inflicted torture and murder throughout the countries they occupied, and upon the Allied soldiers who fought against Japan’s imperial forces.  The Rape of Nanking, the Bataan Death March, the abuse of Korean “comfort women,” and other atrocities, are completely absent, not even indirectly suggested in an age-appropriate way. I am not suggesting that these sources be directly presented to children, which would be totally inappropriate, but they could be offered as a context for adults sharing the book, since Japanese suffering is uniquely at the center of its message.

Like many soldiers who served in the Pacific, Captain Amdahl returned home with a souvenir sword. This item continued to plague him psychologically, and he ultimately decided that he would like to return it to, as he interpreted it, its “rightful owner.”  Stelson describes the swords as works of art and family treasures.  The craftsmanship used to create them is somehow allowed to displace their actual purpose as symbols of military might, and also, to a lesser extent in World War II, as actual weapons used to perpetrate atrocities I prefer not to describe here.  The U.S. military leaders who encouraged soldiers to appropriate them are cast as heartless. Captain Amdahl enters a room where the swords are “piled eight feet high,” and selects one to take home. This scene struck me as an inversion of the often-described encounter between the liberators of Nazi concentration camps and the bodies they discovered. The swords themselves are personified as lifeless victims.

Eventually, Captain Amdahl contacts Tadahiro Motomura, the son of the sword’s owner.  Mr. Motomura writes of how his father did not talk about the war, but expressed his sadness at the loss of his sword: “At the end of the war, it hurt him to give it up.”  (Without describing atrocities, the author might have suggested the incomplete nature of this statement. Even a mild indication of its irony, such as “The Japanese had caused great suffering in the countries they occupied. Still, Mr. Motomura felt sad about the loss of his family heirloom,” would have been closer to the truth.) Unlike in Germany, where an incomplete, and ultimately truncated, version of denazification was U.S. policy, in Japan a decision was made, in the context of the Cold War, to avoid forcing responsibility on the defeated nation.  The emperor remained as a figurehead and there was virtually no educational program to ensure that the Japanese understand anyone’s suffering other than their own. 

Captain Amdahl and Mr. Motomura believed that their personal reconciliation had embodied the idea of “peace with honor.” Perhaps if they had each come to terms with the historical realities that brought so much destruction, culminating in the terrible choice of using an atomic weapon, their decision would have been more meaningful.  The book’s visual beauty, and even the ideal of reconciliation, could prompt a serious discussion with children about the consequences of both totalitarianism and violence.  Historical facts and the idea of accountability would need to be part of that dialogue.

Welcome to the Woods

Tales from Muggleswick Wood – written by Vicky Cowie, illustrated by Charlie Mackesy
Bloomsbury Children’s Books, 2025

Nostalgia sometimes carries a negative implication. When applied to culture it can imply that an author, artist, or film maker is steeped in the past to the exclusion of present realities.  Tales from Muggleswick Wood is not vulnerable to that accusation. While this delightful collection of five stories is certainly an homage to older classic tales, it is also a lively and artistically distinguished work. Whether or not young readers are reminded of Winnie the Pooh and the Hundred Acre Wood, Brian Jacques’s Redwall series, or Jill Barklem’s Brambley Hedge, they will be entertained and educated.

The book’s endpapers feature a detailed map, by Kathryn Rathke, of Muggleswick. This includes not on the woods of the title, but the village, grange, mere, and other settings which will appear in the stories.  Vicky Cowie’s clever rhyming text recalls its roots in British and American children’s books, as would be expected, since the framing device of the narrative is Granny’s tales, told at her grandchildren’s request.  “The Magic of Muggleswick Wood” opens with a portrait of the characters holding hands, their backs to the reader. The girl and her gnome friend, Neville, share a Christopher Robin and Pooh companionship, although Neville is somewhat less naïve than Pooh, which is helpful when gargoyles and a fairy ring appear.

The stories are not uniform in tone. “The Biggest Blooming Beetle” has an outsized insect rather than fairies, and “The Secret of Snittington Hall” returns to the supernatural in the setting of a grand home.  “A magical brownie of secret descent” is a helpful friend to Lady Plumcake, asking only for porridge and honey in return for his efforts. Nonetheless, an ill-treated brownie can quickly transform into the much less pliant “beastly boggart.” “Kevin the Kelpie” explores the dangers of relying on the title character for transportation, if you are an imp, gnome, or wood nymph requiring a ride to the Big Blackthorn Bash.

Charlie Mackesy‘s ink and watercolor illustrations, like those of Quentin Blake and Edward Ardizzone, use caricature, ranging from gentle to somewhat frightening.  Each character’s distinctive traits emerge from delicate brushstrokes and changes in hue.  Mrs. Plumcake ponders how to respond to rude Mr. Pratt, her arms crossed and world bubble above her encasing the essential items: honey, a horseshoe, and a ten-pound note. Fairies and gnomes are easily identified from their roles in folklore, but not limited by them.

Perhaps the darkest tale in the book, “Melvin the Mole,” relates the problem of Major Hugh White, who is plagued by a bothersome mole in his garden.  Melvin has “teeth like daggers,” but also a “soft velveteen” coat. Is he a pest or simply a creature caring for his family? Major White is convinced of the former, and engages a “professional mole catcher” by the name of Mr. J. Thatcher.  Before describing the type of caricature used to depict him, I would like to state categorically that it is certainly unintentional on Mr. Mackesy’s, or Ms. Cowie’s, part:

          Mr. Thatcher was thin, a grim sort of chap, 
with a long moleskin coat and a matching flat cap.
His curly red sideburns came right to his chin,
and he smelled like the juice of a week-old dustbin.

Mr. Thatcher bears a marked resemblance to both Shylock and Fagin. Each quality in isolation would be much less resonant; it’s the combination in one image that brings to mind antisemitism tropes.  To place him in context, his exaggeratedly long nose is only slightly longer than Major White’s. His flat cap might be worn by anyone, but as part of the total costume, along with the long coat, sloping brow, and especially the red sideburns, it is difficult to separate each suggestive element of the drawing. Some Orthodox Jewish men and boys wear long sideburns, payot, or payes, in fidelity to Jewish law.  While an adult Jewish man who wore them would most likely also have a beard, they are still an unmistakable signifier of Jewish identity. The reeking of filth is another alleged Jewish quality, rooted in the Middle Ages, but prevalent in 19th century Europe.  There is a picture of Mr. Thatcher pointing at a sign advertising the noxious refuse he will use to destroy moles.  In this picture his features are even more exaggerated, his eyes hooded and his nose enormous.

This one section of the book did not, however, compromise its value for me. It is a beautiful work of art for children deeply imbued with respect for the literary past and innovation in the present.  We are all vulnerable to stereotypes communicated in childhood, and I am sure that is explanation for their appearance in this wonderful book.

A True Heir to Jane

Emiko – by Chieri Uegaki
Tundra Books, 2025

It’s hard to keep track of all the novels, movies, and other varieties of allegedly Jane Austen-inspired works (there are children’s biographies of her as well, such as this and this).  Some of quite good, a few excellent, and others teeter on the border between obtuse and exploitative.  Chieri Uegaki’s Kimiko is an outstanding young adult novel that adults will enjoy, as well. (I also reviewed an earlier picture book by her.) She is a true heir to Jane Austen, not in the sense of attempting to replicate the novelist’s Emma, but in offering how own distinct version in conversation with the 19th century masterpiece.

Emiko Kimori is a Japanese Canadian high school student living in a spacious and idyllic home on the Pacific coast.  Her parents died when she was very young, but the memories she is too young to have retained have been transformed into an almost spiritual presence in her consciousness. She lives with Ojiichan, her grandfather, a character endowed by Chieri Uegaki with a level of wisdom and patience that, in the hands of another author, might lack credibility. Yet, like every person in Emiko’s life, from the closest to the most tangential, he is utterly believable. 

If you remember your Jane Austen, Emma Woodhouse is engaged in well intentioned matchmaking, motivated by genuine concern for others, but also

unacknowledged arrogance.  Uegaki’s Emiko is also consumed with helping her friends find the partner who will complete their happiness, and a controlling element definitely plays a role in her machinations.  She is also kind, sensitive, and sometimes able to examine her actions with some critical distance.  She has been friends with Kenzo Sanada since they were children, enjoying the embrace of his family and the peace that being with them confers.  “Kimochi ii,” as Emiko explains this warmth, “floats through my mind…The closest I can come to explain what I mean…is that…it makes my spirit feel at ease.”

All novelistic characters have an ethnic identity, whether as an integral part of the narrative or a kind of default, of less significance.  Uegaki weaves Japanese culture throughout the book, with a graceful conviction of its importance.  She is not taking readers on a tour, but inculcating a feeling of interest and empathy.  Whether describing foods in detail or naturally choosing phrases that are the best way to convey the events and her responses to them, Emiko is at ease in two intersecting worlds. She shares with Ojiichan the ritual of offering incense at the butsudan (altar) to honor deceased family members, closing her eyes in front of their photos and requesting guidance.  She and Ojiichan also bond watching Audrey Hepburn in Sabrina.

There are several surprises for readers. Like Austen’s characters, Uegaki’s are three dimensional.  A friend, like Harumi, may be oblivious to her own needs. Jun, the stepson of Emiko’s aunt, Mitsuko, is brimming with both pride and prejudice that place him on a dangerous course.  Kenzo’s basic decent strength is never in doubt, but, like everyone, he needs to find a counterpart. 

There is a scene that epitomizes the way that Uegaki translates Austen into Emiko’s movement towards growth.  Mitsuko prepares to help Emiko transform one of her mother’s kimonos into a prom dress. First, she dresses in the kimono and traditional accessories, then poses for a picture. Finally, Ojiichan blesses the project: “I am happy for you to do as you wish, Emiko. I think your mother would be as well, knowing you are taking something of hers and making it your own.” Then it’s time to “deconstruct” the kimono and recreate it into something new. Emiko eventually learns both how to scrutinize the past and present, and how to start from scratch.

Navigating Together

Together We Are Family – written and illustrated by Emily Hamilton
Bloomsbury Children’s Books, 2025

Wonderful children’s books each have their own outstanding qualities.  There is no one formula for producing the authenticity and beauty inherent in a distinctive picture book.  Emily Hamilton’s Together We Are Family features a tone of empathy with kids, simplicity that is not patronizing, and pictures that are reminiscent of children’s artwork without mere imitation. 

In the opening picture, the mother lowers her body slightly to speak with her daughter, a young girl using a walker.  The mother’s words are enclosed in a speech bubble bordered by unconnected dashes rather than a continuous curved line.  “You are you and I am me. Together, we are family.”  There is nothing trite about those words to a child.  The facing page shows family portraits framed and posted in their home. Each scene captures a moment: a bird carrying off part of a girl’s ice cream cone, a father holding one daughter and an older daughter’s face peering over the bottom of the photo, sisters on the beach with their back to the viewer.

Hamilton’s illustrations are rendered in watercolor and pencil, along with Photoshop.  Simply using media that children might also prefer, including colored pencils and paint, does not necessarily convince readers that the illustrator identifies with their point of view.  The primary colors and naïve brushstrokes need to be accompanied by a sense of identification. In a terrific two-page spread, Hamilton presents a bird’s eye view of a family that embodies the metaphor of finding their way together.  Sitting around a floor mat designed as a town with roads connecting the community, each family member chooses a different activity, but they are working in harmony. The father “drives” a red car in a traffic circle, while one child drives a similar vehicle on her mother’s pants leg. The mother builds a structure with blocks. The younger girl, who is moving a toy alligator, which seems more fanciful and less related to the overall purpose of the game, is just as integrated into the scene.

Frustration is also part of a child’s life, as Hamilton visualizes without judgment.  Putting on her shoes is a challenge for the young girl, as is climbing stairs without the aid of her walker.  As with all children, whether or not they have special needs, anger can erupt unpredictably, as “the moods that catch you unawares.”  While her older sister calmly picks up a piece of fruit at their picnic, the younger girl, frowning, tosses a sandwich into the air. The chaotic merriment of a party is off putting to the child, who stays close to her mother watching the scene with some discomfort. Anyone, young or old, who has ever experienced frenetic social activity as less than an unalloyed joy will relate to this scene.

In a sensitive author’s note, Hamilton explains how her daughter’s disability has influenced their life as a family in specific ways, but she emphasizes how all families inevitably cope with difficulties through support and love.  Together We Are Family resonates with that truth for all readers.